


Center Field

by chasedown



Series: SMF [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Football, Gen, Implied Jack/Parse - Freeform, US Football
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 17:02:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30142758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasedown/pseuds/chasedown
Summary: Kent Parson is there tonotobserve a sacred ritual. Shitty wouldn't be much of a bro if he let him leave Samwell without the proper formalities.
Relationships: Shitty Knight & Kent "Parse" Parson
Series: SMF [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2216466
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Center Field

"I heard some bro was out here," Shitty said, walking out across the grass. Samwell had a nice stadium, but it was spooky at night, with nothing but a few scattered security lights on. Out on the field, they may as well have been in the middle of nowhere. "Reliving your glory days already?"

"How'd you get in here?" Parse asked, not getting up as Shitty approached. He had a bottle of something and judging by the small size of it Shitty was pretty sure it was something that packed more of a punch than the commiseration beer Shitty'd brought along. 

He dropped his six pack onto the grass by the center logo, and sat down next to Parse, with his feet just shy of the paint. "Broken fence panel," he said. "Same way you did," and pulled a can free. Parse grunted acknowledgement and took a swig from his bottle, then went back to frowning at centerfield, arms hooked over his bent knees.

"Parson--" Shitty started.

"You hear from Jack?" Parse asked.

"Nah, man. You?"

"Nah."

They sat for a while. The grass was wet and the damp was seeping through the ass of Shitty's pants. If Parse was having the same experience, he didn't seem to care.

"So what are we doing out here?" Shitty asked, when he'd finished most of his beer and his butt had gone from damp to actively chilly. "You wanna run some drills? For old times' sake?"

Parse snorted a laugh and took another swig.

"Or just sit here and drink your weight in whiskey?"

Parse looked at his bottle, eyeing the size of it, then snorted again, said, "Fuck you, Knight," and took another swallow. Shitty laughed. Nodded at the logo.

"Well? You gonna kiss center field or what?"

Parse smiled. "I'm not graduating."

Shitty considered that as he finished his beer and pulled another out of the pack. "Maybe. But I think an argument could be made."

Parse laughed again but didn't move. "You remember when Jack abandoned me for hazing?"

"Abandoned us, bro."

"Yeah." Parse lifted the bottle to his mouth, then lowered it again without drinking. "Guess I'm returning the favor."

"You don't have to go," Shitty told him. "If you don't want to. Samwell forever, and all that." He raised his beer, saluting the stands. Parse didn't echo the gesture, totally breaking tradition.

"Yeah, I do," he said. "I'm not Jack. I can't just--Coach said I have a chance to, you know. Go all the way." He shrugged. "And shit," he added, downplaying. Shitty smiled at it, then flicked a bit of grass at him.

"No offense," Parse added. "Samwell--"

"Dude. None taken. Just remember me when you get to the NFL. I'm gonna be expecting free tickets and autographs I can sell on e-bay and like, personal appearances at my birthday parties so I can impress firm partners or whatever."

"I'm gonna be expecting free legal aid," Parse shot back.

"Yeah?" Shitty snagged his bottle when he lifted it again. "You might need it if you start this shit this early."

"That's rich," Parse said, but let Shitty tug it free of his fingers. "Coming from you."

"Sorry, bro, but you don't look like you're exactly engaging in planned, rationalized hedonism."

Parse sighed, then scrubbed his face with the back of a hand, then squinted at Shitty and said, "What?"

"You're getting shitfaced by yourself in a field."

Parse heaved another breath and tilted his head back. It would have been nice to have some stars out, but it was overcast with only bits of moonlight making it through the cloud cover. Rimlighting just enough of them that Shitty predicted rain. "You're here," Parse pointed out, eventually.

"Hell yeah, I'm here," Shitty said, and nudged him. "I wouldn't miss it for the world. Come on. Kiss the field."

Parse looked at him, with an uncertain half smile on his face.

"Go," Shitty said, and nudged him again, harder this time. "Kiss the field and promise her you'll make it big."

Parse laughed. Shitty nodded towards the logo. "I'm waiting."

It took another minute, but after that Parse took a breath, set his jaw, and shifted off his ass and onto his knees, shuffling onto the Samwell logo before he paused to check the yard line. Then he leaned forward to press his face to the painted grass, and said, "I promise," softly, muffled into the turf.

Then he flopped onto his back and tilted his head back to look at Shitty. "There. Happy?"

Shitty took a drink of his whiskey. "Yeah," he said. "You?"

"Yeah," Parse agreed, looking up at the clouds again. "Yeah. I guess."


End file.
